December Ghosts

Midnight—
an hour the owl
knows best, and souls who glide
with purpose to a lover's side,
to sit.

Suntide

This sun
that gnaws my pain
with easy light and warmth
makes living just a sleeper's dream
in time.

Lost Hours

Clockwise,
we live by hours
in lines of time made round,
and roundabout ourselves we turn,
unfound.

Aegean

Old sea,
in waters rhymed
and uttered loud or soft,
tonight your poems are muttering
bad dreams.

The Bird of Ecclesiastes

Apart,
our love's a bird
we carry in a thought
as light as air, and sings within
the dark.

Songs for Shiva

Lord of Worlds

Endless,
the waves' meshes
on this shore, in the heart
the answering and giving back
the same.

I know
these rhythms well, my blood and flesh
made of the same music,
my breath your breath,
O Shiva.

Offering

Take this
wet strawberry,
lobed and whole as Shiva—
I hold it in my mouth for you
to eat.

Endless

Let's make
the night endless,
its rose glove to hold us
closer yet, and the morning pass
us by.

In a Cemetery, in Gaul

Caesar—
note how he sits
his horse, somewhat aloof
but looking, always looking far
ahead.

Mutations

Silence
seeks the center
of every tree and rock,
that thing we hold closest—the end
of songs.